A contenu d’excellent vin,
Elle garde un parfum divin
Et la lie en est toujours bonne.”
Monsieur de Lauzun, on the other hand, being now over sixty years old, contracted a marriage with an English girl of sixteen. She was so fearfully thin, that the Duc de St Simon, who was one of Mademoiselle de L’Enclos’ cercle, said de Lauzun might as well have wedded all the bones of the Holy Innocents Cemetery, where the skulls and bones were piled in pyramids.
St Simon was a delightful conversationalist. He was the son of the old favourite of Louis XIII. He could be very caustic with his anecdotes. One night he greatly amused the company with an account of the marriage of the son of the Grand Dauphin, the little Duke of Burgundy. He was of the tender age when ordinary and everyday little boys are occasionally still liable to chastisement by their elders. The duchess to be, who was still very fond of her doll, was presented on the occasion by the Queen of England with a very elegantly trimmed shift, handed to her by the maids of honour on a magnificently enamelled tray. In this garment she was attired, while her youthful husband, seated on a footstool, was undressed in the presence of the king and of all the Court. The bride, being put to bed, the Duc of Burgundy was conducted in and also put into bed, beside which the Grand Dauphin then took his seat, while Madame de Lude took her place beside the young duchess. Then sugar-plums were offered to the bride and bridegroom, who cracked them up with the greatest enjoyment. After about a quarter of an hour, the Duc was taken out of bed again, a proceeding which appeared greatly to displease him, and he was led, sulking enough, back to the antechamber, where the Duc de Berry, some two years his junior, clapping him on the shoulder, told him he was not a bit of a man. “If it had been me,” he added, “I should have refused to get out of bed.”
The king imposed silence on the little rascal’s rebellious counsel, and placed the bridegroom back into the hands of his tutors, declaring that he would not permit him to so much as kiss the tips of his wife’s fingers, for the next five years to come. “Then, grandpapa,” demanded the little brother, “why have you let them be married? It is ridiculous.” It was all certainly something like it.
After that the child was placed for his instruction in the care of the Abbé de Fénelon, whose rapid advancement at Court had been attained by his lofty character and talents.
But Louis had far more affection for his illegitimate children than for these, and aided by Madame de Maintenon’s intrigues, he finally succeeded in securing a large portion of the heritage of la Grande Mademoiselle for the Duc du Maine and the Duc du Vendôme; but the brave spirit of heroes and conquerors he could not endow them with, for all his desire. It was to no effect that he confided command to them of his troops in Holland. The Duc du Maine specially undistinguished himself. Just as the enemy was escaping scot-free, he found he was hungry, and asked for a cup of bouillon to strengthen him. “Charge! Charge, Monseigneur!” urged Villeroy’s messenger, coming to him in a fever of excitement.
“Oh, well, patience,” replied the warrior; “my wing is not in order yet.”
Finding no sort of response to his repeated messages, Villeroy went in search himself of the prince, and found him in his tent, at his confessor’s knees. The first duty of a good Christian, he said, was to make his peace at such times with Heaven. So the religious discipline of his governess and stepmother, the widow Scarron and Madame de Maintenon, had borne fruit. It was of a different flavour from the prayer of the brave servant of King Charles I.—Sir Edmund Verney—before Edgehill: “Lord, Thou knowest how busy I must be this day. If I forget Thee, do not Thou forget me.” And there was no battle won or lost that day on the Dutch frontier, and Louis, when they brought to Versailles news of the enemy’s safe retreat, was at a loss to understand the situation; for no one cared, or dared, to tell him the truth, until Lavienne, his valet-de-chambre in chief, in the days of Louis’s amours, hazarded the observation that, after all, proverbs could speak falsely, and that “Good blood could lie;” and then he went on to add the other truths concerning Monsieur du Maine. In the face of the fulsome praise following in the journals—which lied as only journals know how—the king was overwhelmed with grief and chagrin; and, beside himself, he broke his cane in a fit of anger on the back of one of an unlucky servant, whom he happened to detect surreptitiously eating a bit of marchpane. This ebullition, creating the consternation of all the Court, just sitting down to dinner, brought Madame Louis Quatorze and Père la Chaise upon the scene. “Parbleu, mon père,” said the king, gradually regaining his senses, “I have just chastised a wretched creature who greatly merited it.”